Love's Labour's Lost
by Bea Ryan
Summary: A Jarlie reunion story. AU since she meets him when he's full of Patriot programming and she's late season one Charlie, determined to make the world a better place and take care of those around her. Story complete. Chapter six is the happy ending which was posted first. Chapter seven is the alternative, tragic ending.
1. Chapter 1

Connor signaled from his post in the tree at the top of the valley. Two soldiers, two civilians, one driver. Bass relayed message to Miles on the other side of the pass. Before the blackout they'd used Morse Code to play spies. Since they'd used it more times than they cared to remember and too often in situations like this one. Once more into the fray.

Bass whispered to Charlie beside him. "They'll come around the bend in thirty seconds. On my signal you get the soldier on the left. Miles has the right. I'll get the driver. We want the civilians alive, and we need to be down there and on them before they grab the reins and take off."

Charlie stared back at him stonefaced. Bass still tended to assume she wasn't good at this sort of thing. It was annoying but calling him on it wouldn't do any good.

Thirty seconds later Bass and Miles took out their targets cleanly. Connor launched from the lower branches of the tree where he'd waited after descending from his lookout point and landed on the male civilian in the back of the wagon, knocking him off the back platform and to the ground, dazed, before grabbing the reins of the wagon and pulling it to a stop. Charlie hadn't fired.

"Dammit, Charlie," Bass grumbled as he lined up the shot himself.

"It's Jason," she said, her voice pitched higher than usual.

"Who the hell is Jason?" Bass asked.

Charlie stood up and screamed, "It's Jason!" She'd seen Miles kill a lot of people, had killed plenty herself, but this wasn't a body she wanted on their count. They'd thrown him into danger or left him behind to face it alone too often. He was a survivor, but it gnawed at her that he'd protected her so often while when she'd last seen him she'd left him to his fate. She'd accused him of being untrustworthy, but she'd turned on him as often as he'd changed sides.

Bass and Charlie slid down the hill as Miles approached from the other side. Jason was already stalking towards Connor. He looked wrong. His body was too stiff, his expression too blank. Charlie had seen him attack before. He was able to shut down his emotions and do the job without judgement, but he usually moved like a wolf, fluid as he moved in for the kill and secure in his skills. This was more robotic.

Connor whipped him with the reins and Jason didn't flinch, didn't give any indication he noticed the hit. He reached up to the driver's bench and grabbed Connor's ankle, dragging him to the ground and wrapping his strong hands around Connor's throat. She'd never seen Jason strangle anyone. He'd admitted to her privately that he hated close kills; he preferred the distance of a bow or a gun for something that ended in death instead of capture.

Connor's eyes were beginning to close as he gasped for air. Bass and Miles both levelled their weapons at Jason's head, far enough away that he couldn't strike but close enough to be noticed, to be deadly.

"Let go of him now or die," Bass ordered.

"Alto!" screamed the woman in the wagon. "Alto, Jason! Alto!" She was in her mid-twenties, overdressed for anything practical and underdressed for anything respectable. More importantly, her cries were getting through to Jason who had loosened his grip on Connor.

"How the hell do you know how to command him?" the Patriot asked from his position on the ground. He was in his fifties, balding and soft.

"Do you really think I've spent five years around the drones without picking up a few basics?" she asked. Her tone was laced with disgust.

"How do you know his name?" the man demanded.

"His mother asked me to come get him," she said. She jumped down from the wagon and moved towards Jason. His hands were still around Connor's throat, holding him down but no longer squeezing. "Descansar, Jason. Descansar."

At her order, he took two steps away from Connor and moved into parade rest position, his feet shoulder width apart and his hands behind his back.

"His mother asked you to come get him?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah. Julia's hooked up with the Patriots. Everyone who's surprised raise your hand." She quickly glanced around the group before continuing in a bored tone, "Oh look. No hands. So are we hostages or what?"

* * *

Once they were back in the cellar of the cabin they tied the Patriot man to a chair and left him to stew. Adequate fear of what was to come was a fast way to cut down on what had to be done to get to the good information. The woman was cooperative, ordering Jason around as they requested. He became agitated when she was cuffed, so they left her hands free. She settled on a chair radiating uncertainty, boredom, and disgust, a blend Charlie had never before seen in a prisoner. Jason stood behind her in in the same vaguely military position he'd assumed when he'd stopped strangling Connor. Occasionally he would blink rapidly and Charlie would see a flicker of him behind the stiff mask his face had become. Most of the time he seemed like a hollow copy of himself.

"Alright," Bass said, stalking the room like a caged animal before he turned to the woman. "Who the hell are you?"

She nodded towards Miles and answered, "Since you two have made up does that mean you aren't going to hold my father's actions against me? He was part of General Matheson's stupid assassination plot against President Monroe."

Both men stared at her, running through who she could possibly be. Miles placed her first. "You're Kate Walton, Major Walton's daughter."

"Yep. When you chickened out, Daddy ran home, grabbed Mom and me, and headed straight to a Patriot stronghold."

"Walton was a Patriot?" Miles' tone tried to deny it, but his posture slumped.

"A lot of your coup was Patriots. DeVille, Myers, Stratton." She paused and waited for him to meet her eyes before asking, "Was it even your idea?"

Miles looked away.

She continued, "Anyhow, the Patriots aren't big on dead weight. Once Dad wasn't positioned to overthrow the Republic anymore he lost status fast. Lucky for him he had three pretty daughters who were close enough to old enough." A shadow crossed her expression but she quickly shoved it away. No one asked old enough for what.

"What's wrong with Jason?" Charlie demanded.

Kate sighed and stared back at Charlie as if the answer should be obvious. Bass and Miles avoided her glare as her eyes scoured the room for answers. Guilt was writ large on Miles' face. She'd spent less than a day on a Monroe Republic re-education ship and had still been beaten and branded. They knew the extremes of indoctrination but weren't volunteering the information.

Connor turned away from the mirror where he was studying the bruises on his neck to answer. "He's on something. Nunez sold a couple of different compounds for soldiers. Focus enhancement. Inhibition removal. A few other things. I didn't know they were going to the Patriots, but it doesn't surprise me."

"How long until he's not 'on something'?" Charlie demanded.

"A dose doesn't usually last more than 12 hours. There's no profit in it if you can only sell to a customer once."

"So what do we do until then?" Charlie asked.

"We hope she can keep him under control," Miles answered. He stared at Kate who shrugged in response.

"And if she can't?" Charlie asked.

No one answered.

* * *

Charlie didn't ask how the Patriot man died. She didn't help bury him either. He was a problem for Bass and Miles. Jason was her problem.

He'd been trained like a dog in a bastardized version of Spanish. Stop. Rest. Eat. Sit. Stay. Heel. There were attack commands too, but Kate claimed she didn't know those. When Kate had selected Jason from the compound as her guard she'd spent a few days with him and his trainer as Jason's loyalty was transferred to her, her own 200 pound human guard dog. Now she helped transfer it to Charlie. The drugs were supposed to have worn off two days ago, but there'd been no sign of Jason's personality. The only responses he provided were the occasional nods to acknowledge orders. He didn't smile. He didn't speak.

Jason sat on the floor beside her as Miles helped Bass and Connor pack for the trip. She didn't like treating him so much like a dog, but he was so big and so protective everyone felt more secure when he was in a more subservient position. She absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, one of Kate's suggestions for bonding, as the men stomped back and forth through the house.

"You're sure this is what you want?" Miles asked Kate again. "We could really use a spy inside the Patriots."

"I've put up with them for five years. I just want out. I learned to not mind it, or at least not think about it, but I've got a real choice now."

"You really think you can make a living?" Connor asked. "You'll be starving and back on your back inside a month."

Charlie broke in, her tone as hard as her glare. "You're taking her to tend bar, right? You promise you're getting her a job as a bartender?" Jason tensed as she spoke and she laid her other hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. He'd always paid attention to her moods. Now it made him dangerous.

"Yeah," Bass said. "She'll be fine. Plenty of people owe me favors in New Vegas." He stared hard at Kate. "And now you're going to owe me a favor."

"I understand. I owe you one anyway because of what my dad did," Kate said.

"Your dad owes me that one. You'll owe me this one. Let's go."

Miles followed them out, leaving Charlie alone with Jason. He closed his eyes, exhaled deeply, and leaned toward her, resting his head against her leg. It was the first time they'd been alone since his rescue.

"Is it easier for you when it's just us?" she asked quietly.

He rubbed his head gently against her leg, the slight scruff of his beard making a rasping sound as it moved against her jeans. She wasn't sure if he was nodding in agreement or nuzzling. He'd always been more prone to silent stares, brushes of her hand, and eventually kisses than talking.

She ran her fingers through his hair, intentionally this time, using her nails to gently scratch down the back of his head and along the edge of his hairline. He used to like that. He made a sound and she struggled to classify it. Whether moan, purr, or sigh, it wasn't a growl and it was more sound than he'd made since he'd been rescued. Did he even know he'd been rescued? She moved her hand to his ear, running the outer edge of it between her thumb and forefinger, slowly stroking downward and massaging his earlobe. He'd liked that too.

He turned toward her without rising and rested his chin on her knees. He stared up at her, and his dark eyes seemed to try to find hers but his gaze still lacked a soul behind it. She caressed his cheek and promised, "We'll get through this."

He blinked twice quickly, and the muscles of his face twitched. For an instant she felt the contact, felt his presence, but then he was gone again, and she was left alone with an empty, Jason-shaped shell.

"We'll get through this," she repeated.


	2. Chapter 2

"We'll be fine, Miles," Charlie promised. She grabbed the quiver of arrows, shoved the bow in Jason's hand and nudged him towards the door. It was simpler to give him orders, but since they were trying to undo his training, she'd sworn off reinforcing his position as the dog of the house just for her own convenience. She was, however, willing to keep him away from Miles as much as possible. The men had never gotten along well. While they'd been rebels Jason had reluctantly admitted that Miles was the leader and he was the soldier, but they'd never become friends, never built any trust. Now that Jason's sole focus was her safety, he'd deemed Miles a threat. The men bristled worse than ever in each other's presence and this time Jason's desire for approval didn't moderate his dislike. He stiffened when Miles came within five feet of him or Charlie and his jaw clenched hard when Miles was within arm's reach. He hadn't acted out yet, hadn't attacked, but the tension in the house felt one dropped plate away from a bloody battle.

With the door closed behind them, Charlie exhaled and smiled, her shoulders relaxing as a cooling fall breeze blew across the porch. "Ready for target practice?" she asked Jason. She thought she saw him nod in reply. He still didn't speak, but he'd seemed a little less locked in with each passing day. When it was just the two of them, when he let go of his guard dog behaviors, he sometimes seemed like his old self, quiet and still but present. She'd looked up while scrubbing carrots yesterday and found him leaning against the wall, watching her and smiling. The lean, so different from the rigid rest position he'd learned from the Patriots, had made her as happy as the smile. He was on his way back. She could feel it.

They made their way down to the barn, Jason following slightly behind her as they dodged holes on the rutted, hard packed dirt trail. At the barn door they turned right, following a path of crushed grass around to the side of the building toward the orchard.

"Think you can still hit the broad side of a barn?" she teased.

The target she'd roughed in on the wall with white chalk was a series of concentric circles. A foot wide band reached six feet tall at its peak, the alternating bare and drawn areas growing narrower as the circles shrank until it was only four inches across at the bull's eye.

"Pick a spot and hit the target," she said gesturing to the overgrown ground behind them. Fifty yards away a fence marked the edge of the orchard. He walked towards it and she followed. Halfway between the target and the fence, he stopped and turned in a circle, stamping down the tall, dry grass and surveying the area. She tried not to think of a dog making a bed.

Jason paid extra attention to the orchard, facing it instead of the barn. He'd spent so long staring Charlie began to wonder if he'd spotted something to shoot for dinner. Long minutes later he turned back to the barn, nocked an arrow, and fired. He missed the bullseye but landed in the second circle. He grabbed the next arrow and fired again, too low this time. His fourth arrow landed in the bullseye.

They both relaxed as he fired shot after shot, the older, more ingrained muscle memory pushing out the Patriot's recent training. He held his back muscles tight as he fired, his feet in the stance that had become second nature over the years, and exhaled on the release, letting the tension out of his body as the string and arrow flew forward.

Charlie settled on the fence, her weight putting a slight sag in aging rails. She remembered a time like this on the way to Chicago shortly after she'd met him. He'd been showing off, trying to impress her with rapid, accurate fire. Her crossbow had been easy to shoot but hard to reload. She couldn't say when she had given it up for the gun at her back and the knife on her thigh, but it had been months since she'd spent this much time with arrows. This felt simpler, better, until Jason ran out of arrows. He turned to face her and waited.

It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for orders. "Keep practicing. Collect your arrows and fire another round or two. Let me know when you want a break." He nodded in response and went to retrieve his shots from the barn wall, refilling the quiver and picking a new spot for practice, this time further back and slightly to the left of the target. He finished that round and then a third, ending in a position ten yards from Charlie. He squinted his eyes and swallowed hard before giving in and letting his body take up the waiting stance the Patriots had taught him.

"How do you feel?" she called. He still didn't speak, she hadn't really expected him to, but he brought his arms forward and rubbed his forearm in response. She wondered if he'd hurt himself. He wasn't wearing a bracer under his shirt to protect his forearm from the snap of the string. She felt a twinge of remorse before reminding herself that she wasn't actually a pet owner. He'd known they were going shooting this morning and had dressed himself. Relearning self-preservation was important, especially if he was going to keep living with Miles. God help them all if he wasn't a lot better by the time Bass and Connor got back.

"Ready for as snack?" she asked. He cocked his head at her as if asking a question and she gestured to the trees behind her. "Apples of course."

His face was emotionless as he assumed his shooting stance, nocked an arrow, and drew back the string. He was facing her, seemingly aiming towards her, but his eyes weren't focused on her. He showed no recognition of her presence, no acknowledgement of the damage an arrow would do to her if he shared one with her at top speed.

"No!" she cried as she dove off the fence rail. "Alto, Jason. Alto." She felt a twinge of regret as she fell back on the Patriot commands but better to undo some of his recovery and live to see another day than to die with the best of intentions and leave no one to care for the big, dumb robot. If he killed her, Miles would kill him or die trying. Maybe they'd both die, Jason strangling the last breaths out of Miles before bleeding out himself. If Jason lived and Miles died, would Jason wander the earth like a zombie without much interest in brains, killing for the sake of killing? How long would Miles make it without her? He'd been OK before, but alone with Connor and Bass things seemed likely to go awry quickly.

As she hit the ground, the breath was knocked from her lungs and she realized it hadn't been her own life but theirs that had flashed before her in what might be her final moments. It wasn't bad enough that those two would be the death of her, they'd take what should have been her final moments before death too. She heard the twang of the string and the woosh of the arrow as it flew followed by the thud of it hitting something solid.

She looked up to see him nocking another. His expression was unreadable, but it wasn't blank. Whatever he was doing, he was aware of it. He fired again and this time she watched the arrow fly. It hit an apple, knocking the fruit loose from the tree. Jason was smiling as he ran towards it, vaulting the fence to retrieve the fresh picked snacks.

She felt the tears well up in her eyes and choke her throat as he came back towards her. He'd shot apples for her just before they'd reached Chicago. It had been late in the season then. They'd been hungry after a full day of walking and sick of the dried foods they'd packed. The orchard beside the road had been plucked clean of low hanging fruit by other travellers and the aging branches had looked too weak to support her weight if she'd tried climbing the tree. Aaron, Maggie and Charlie had kicked a few of the fallen apples on the ground, flipping them over in an attempt to find one that was more fruit than rot. Jason had watched briefly before shooting fresh apples from the higher branches. She'd been reluctantly impressed with his skills and if Aaron hadn't been there trying to make some pre-blackout joke about "on a stick" the moment might have turned romantic. Instead they'd eyerolled together and shared a few glances as she'd gnawed the fruit off the arrow before returning it. It had been a moment for her, special and set apart from all the other miles they'd covered and meals they'd shared. She didn't know it had stuck in his memory too.

Now he held a skewered apple out to her, his smile slowly fading into the flat expression that had dominated his days since they'd rescued him. Her Jason may be already fading, but he'd broken through for a few minutes. He was getting better.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she stumbled towards the kitchen. Miles was hunched over a hot mug of not-coffee looking irritated at the world. It was his standard morning expression and Charlie had learned to ignore it.

"Have you seen Jason?" she asked.

"Your guard dog wandered off?" Miles asked in reply.

"He wasn't... where I expected him to be when I woke up." They'd tried settling him in a guest room and on the couch, but even two weeks after they'd rescued him he still preferred to sleep in her room. He'd settled into a spot on the braided rug between her bed and the door the first night and still turned in there every night. She'd kitted it out with a blanket and pillow in an attempt to make it look more like a camp bed and less like a dog curled on the rug, but she still felt guilty about it.

She grabbed her jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and headed from the front door.

"Take a gun," Miles called. "If he so much as looks at you funny, put him down."

"Miles," she began.

"If he'd ever growled at you the way he growls at me he'd already be in a shallow grave."

Charlie stared back at him, letting the silence build.

Miles continued, "Yeah, fine, he's been getting better, but now he's done something we didn't see coming. Take a gun. Use it if you have to."

Charlie shoved the gun in her jacket pocket and let the door slam behind her as she left. Miles might be right, but that didn't mean she was going to coddle his morning hangover as a reward for his wisdom.

* * *

She found Jason, naked to the waist, mucking out a horse stall in the barn. It was an old argument. By the time Miles had his first horse he'd also had someone at the ready whenever General Matheson wanted to hand off his mount. Jason had been a kid when the camp wars began, and one of the duties of the kids was to make sure the horses were healthy and ready. He'd grown to adulthood, or at least to the militia's minimum age of 16, in the quiet of the barn. He didn't love the work, but he knew how to do it and hated to see it undone. Miles considered the horses little more than particularly hungry tools to be stolen and then sold as needed. He did as little as possible for the horses and less when Jason was around, knowing the younger man would pick up his slack.

Charlie stepped into the shadows inside the barn and watched the dust shimmer and sparkle in the early morning sun. The horse, loosely tethered outside the stall, stamped her feet impatiently. Jason smiled at the horse, gave the fresh hay in the stall a final shove and exited the stall, leaving the gate open behind him. The horse nickered at him as he approached and he made a gentle clicking sound in reply, stopping beside the her head and reaching a hand up to scratch her ear. She shoved her large brown head against his shoulder, flapping her lips in a happy nibble as he moved his hand down her dusty coat. He stopped the caress at her shoulder, gave her a firm pat, kicking up a small cloud of dust in the process, and said, "I'll get the brush." He froze after he said it, realization dawning as a smile cracked his face. He'd finally spoken. He exhaled and grinned, giving the horse another solid pat. "I'll get the brush."

Charlie pressed further back into the shadows, away from the door, and smiled as he walked towards the back of the barn. He'd spoken. It was the least important sentence and most significant words she'd hear today.

He returned with a bucket full of supplies and led the horse outside. She watched as he worked through his steps and smiled. His routine was the same as it had always been. Pick the hooves, curry thoroughly, wash gently, and comb out the mane and tail. She also knew he talked to the horses as he worked. He said it kept them calm. She suspected it did the same for him, that for a long time the horses had been the only ones who'd listen. Usually his chatter with the horses was about nothing, the weather, the barn cats, the promise of a long ride or a nice nap. Once in Kentucky she'd caught him talking about her, or at least she'd assumed it had been about her. She'd left quickly. His comment had been, "Why does that girl make me stupid?"

Today she was too far away to hear what he said, but she watched and studied his body language. The Patriot training seemed to try to take hold three separate times, but he fought it off, twice alone, once with the help of the horse. He'd gone into his rest position, feet planted and back stiff with his hands behind his back and silent, and the horse had leaned hard against him, giving him a thousand pounds of inspiration to move his feet, recovering himself as he recovered his balance. Charlie felt her heart swell and swore to herself they'd find a kind owner with lots of carrots for that horse when it was time for her to move on.

When Jason had finished brushing out the horse's mane and tail, a difficult job given how long it had been since the last time it was done, he used his knife to cut a length of flowering vine growing along the edge of the barn. He folded it double and then folded it again as he returned to the horse. With practiced fingers he braided the decoration into the horse's mane, making it look as if the horse was growing flowers along the crest of her neck. When he ran out of hair, he secured his work with a piece of leather and gave her a solid pat on the shoulder before scratching her withers and unhitching her lead rope.

Charlie moved into the sun so he could see her as he approached the barn. He looked at her as he moved closer, and she felt the current of connection when their eyes met.

"She looks good," Charlie said, nodding to the horse.

"Ready for the parade," Jason answered. He looked away from her, as if he'd suddenly realized he was shirtless, and led the horse into her stall. He took a moment to settle her in before taking the bucket of grooming gear back to the tack room. He moved stiffly as he returned to her.

"Are you slipping away?" Charlie asked as she bit her lip. Her throat felt tight and the words barely came out at a whisper.

"Can I braid your hair?" Jason asked.

"What?"

"I'm fighting not to put my hands behind my back. It was easier when I was working. Now I'm not and..."

"Yeah, go ahead. Braid away." She turned her back to him and he combed his fingers firmly through her hair, separating the strands and gently tugging at the knots.

"Sorry it's so dirty," she said.

"My hands are probably dirtier. Let me know if I pull too hard. I haven't braided human hair in a while." He huffed slightly and Charlie was left guessing how he was doing. His hands moved firmly and confidently, sliding over her skull and gathering strands into the braid at the back. He continued down past the nape of her neck, stopping between her shoulderblades and holding the end of his work to keep it from unravelling.

He said, "We can shuffle to the tack room and see if I can find some leather to bind it or I can just take it out."

She reached up and felt the design he'd created. It was a raised braid, tightly woven and running like a ridge along the back of her skull. She let out a little laugh. "You braided my hair like the horse's?"

"What did you expect?"

"Why does the horse get flowers and I don't?"

"You didn't ask for them," he answered.

"Neither did she," Charlie teased.

"She did if you speak horse."

She laughed outright this time, a full, loud sound that echoed in the barn. As it died away, she realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. She leaned back against him, her back to his chest with his hand trapped between them as he held fast to the ends of her hair. Her shoulders, bare in her tanktop, stuck to his hot, sweat dampened skin.

She unwound the string she always wore, Danny's old bootlace, from her wrist. "Use this. Tie it well so I don't lose it, but I want to be able to get it back off without cutting it."

Two minutes later he still hadn't moved to tie the ends of her hair. Charlie quietly asked, "Jason?"

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Nothing. I thought you were gone again."

"Still here," he said.

"So why haven't you tied the ends of the braid?"

"You have to step away from me to do that. I like you where you are."

She let her head fall back against him and the unfamiliar lump of braided hair created unwanted space between them. "I don't think I like my hair like this," she said.

He let go of the ends and moved the hand that had been holding her hair through it, undoing the pattern and separating the long strands, before his hands settled around her waist, holding her against him . They stood with her back pressed to his chest until Charlie felt his mind leave again.


	4. Chapter 4

By lunchtime Jason was locked inside himself again. He followed her around, followed orders, but he stopped speaking and went into his Patriot stance between orders. She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to break him out. Charlie had tried having him clean more stalls, polish tack, exercise the horses, and fire arrows in an attempt to take his mind back in time and put it back in control of his body. Nothing worked. He followed orders but that was it. He didn't interact with her. He might as well have been a robot.

She kicked the door jam to the tack room as he put the saddles away after their ride. Jason was still shirtless. He had been all day. He'd been that way when she found him cleaning stalls that morning and in a fit of frustration she'd yelled at him that he could have a shirt when he decided he needed one but she wasn't ordering him to put one on and if he got a sunburn it was his own stupid fault.

She'd known she was ranting even as she'd done it, but she couldn't stop the words. She'd tried being calm, patient, honest, tolerant, and now she just wanted to scream. He'd been there, spent the morning with her, and now he was gone again but still right in front of her. She learned to lose people, learned to keep going when there was no going back. Teetering on the edge of having and not having like this was too much to bear.

Now she studied the mess she'd made of him. His boots and pants had already been dirty from cleaning the stalls, but she'd made it worse, pushing him through activity after activity in her attempt to drag him back to her. The layer of dirt on his chest was cut through with rivulets of lighter color where his sweat had dripped and cleared the grime. His shoulders glowed faintly pink beneath the bronze, evidence of the sun's work on his skin. His hands were filthy, oily and a shade darker than the rest of him from the leather dye which had bled off as he cleaned the tack. She couldn't take him back to the house, back to Miles' scrutiny, like this.

She gestured to the makeshift stove in the corner of the room. It was really an old metal oil barrel, but someone had vented it to the outside and knocked a hole in the front, allowing them to load wood inside it and heat a pot on top of it.

"Please go get a couple buckets of water," she said to Jason. "You're getting a bath."

He blinked rapidly several times before moving to follow orders and Charlie smiled to herself as she loaded the kindling in the stove. She had his attention. She hadn't planned to do any more than clean him up before taking him up to the house for dinner, but if the promise of scrubbing him down put cracks in his Patriot armor then she'd get him sparkling clean.

She loaded kindling in the stove and found the flint kit in a drawer. When they'd first settled into the farm they'd not only found the main house well-stocked, but a second, decent, little home here in the tack room of the barn. There were blankets and towels in a metal trunk, musty but still useable, and the shelves held a few dishes and pots as well as some silverware. She'd be able to clean up Jason with relative comfort and plenty of privacy. While Miles might not mind if she ran Jason through the chores necessary to care for the animals, she doubted he'd approve of her bathing Jason.

Once the fire was lit she moved the largest pot to the top of the stove. When Jason returned with the water she had him fill the pot. His eyes followed her as he moved and she felt his presence near the surface of his bodily prison. She had his attention even if he hadn't yet been able to do much about it. She hid her smile and ordered him to get two more buckets of water. If the pot on the stove boiled she'd need cool water to blend with it to make it a comfortable temperature. She'd let the sun burn him. She wouldn't let the water do it too. Pain didn't seem to have much impact on him. Simple moments of happiness brought him to her.

The small room smelled of oiled leather and the hay on the other side of the wall. Late afternoon sun filtered through the half-curtains over the window and combined with the glow from the fire to bathe the room in warm light. She looked down at her clothes in dismay. She was dressed for battle and covered in dirt. She'd never been the girly type, but sometimes she missed having options. She had a change of clothes at the house. They were clean and practical, but that was about all that could be said for them. For now even after they cleaned their bodies they'd be stuck with dirty clothes.

When Jason came back this time she invited him to have a seat, careful to phrase it as a suggestion rather than an order. He did, and waited, still and silent but with his eyes fixed on her, as she mixed the hot and cold water in a large bowl until she decided it was the right temperature. She pulled a chair up beside him and sat down. She tried to keep her tone casual as she said, "I'm going to wash your face, OK?"

She thought she saw him nod in reply but couldn't be sure. He closed his eyes as she slowly ran the warm, damp cloth over his skin.

"You're kind of filthy," she said. "Sorry about that." She ran the cloth along his jawline, lifting his chin so his eyes met hers. "I'm sorry for yelling at you too. I know you have to be even more frustrated than I am."

He grunted in reply. It wasn't words, but she let herself hope that he was fighting his way to the surface again. She rinsed the cloth in the water, squeezed out the extra and ran it over his ear, massaging gently as she cleaned the dust out of the ridges and valleys. It was a new kind of intimacy, caring for him like this when he couldn't care for himself, and she wondered how much further along in his progress he'd be if she'd taken care of him all along instead of ordering him to take care of himself. When she rinsed the cloth and moved to the other ear, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

She said, "I don't have a drain or shampoo, so I'm just going to run the rag through your hair, OK?" This time she was certain she saw a small nod in reply. She added a little more warm water to the rinsing bowl before moving to stand behind him. She dipped the cloth in the warm water, leaving it wetter this time, and as she massaged it into his hair a few drops of water staggered down the tan skin of his back. She lost sight of them at the waistband of his pants. Two were absorbed at the point where the fabric met his skin. A third disappeared into a gap and slid out of sight.

She caught herself staring and quickly got back to work, this time taking more care about the amount of water she used. She worked downward from his hair, caressing his neck and shoulders with the cloth. She'd learned in the farm community in Wisconsin to always keep one hand on the animal to keep it calm, and she rested her bare hand against whatever area she'd just washed while the other rinsed and squeezed the cloth. She was certain she felt him shudder each time she did it, but neither of them broke the silence. When she'd finished with his back she leaned down, her head next to his, and said, "I need to change the water."

He nodded and let out a trembling breath.

She returned with fresh water and knelt in front of him. His feet and knees were slightly spread, allowing her to come close enough to wash his chest. She wrung out the cloth and began gently working on his shoulder before asking, "Would you rather do this yourself?"

He shook his head no. It was a small movement, but between it and his ragged breaths she knew Jason was in control of his body again. She smiled at him, her grin breaking wide across her face, and continued her work, moving far slower than was necessary and enjoying every moment of it.

When she reached his waist band she said, "I guess I let you take over from here."

He leaned down and kissed her, tentatively at first, but the heat between them flashed like gas thrown on a fire. He pulled her hard against him and into his lap without breaking the kiss. Her hands roamed his body while his clung to her like a tether. Her shirt pulled away from her, stuck to his damp, bare skin. Dirt turned to mud as they crushed away the space between them. When they finally broke apart, Charlie ran a finger through the dark spots she'd left on his chest.

"Do you like being dirty?" she teased.

"You have no idea."


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was awkward. After they'd both washed, the last time quickly and separately, they'd made their way back to the main house and snuck upstairs to change in clothes. They were late, freshly scrubbed and grinning by the time they made it to the kitchen. Miles didn't bother to pretend he didn't notice.

"So it's bath day, huh? Did she scrub behind your ears?"

Jason clenched his teeth and fought the urge to attack. The damn training didn't differentiate between snark and a sword. If it felt like an assault, he wanted to hit back. Miles' references to him as a dog, a robot, and a child chafed. He couldn't control himself when the programming took control any more than Miles could control his "clever" observations after his fourth drink. In as even a tone as he could muster, Jason said, "She boiled the water. I scrubbed myself."

Charlie was at the counter, out of Miles' site but within Jason's, and made a face at him, pretending to be offended that her work to clean him up hadn't been mentioned. Jason cracked a smile in response and Miles spun to see why but only saw Charlie at the cutting board with her back to them both.

Miles turned back to Jason. "At least you're talking," he muttered.

Bass and Connor were due back soon, hopefully with a wagon full of supplies, but tonight was a meal of scraps; a few small, stale slices of bread, the last of the dried sausage, plenty of apples. She'd poached them, roasted them and made applesauce over the last few weeks, trying to bring some variety to the same basic meal, but they were all sick of apples. In Wisconsin the members of the village had made and put up applebutter, apple jelly, and applesauce to carry them through the winter. It had been hot, sticky work, but even as a child she'd recognized it as something they needed to do if they wanted to survive. Canning fruit and long term planning weren't part of how she lived now. She'd suggested making some and selling it, they were always short of currency, but Miles had pointed out that they didn't have any jars and someone at the closest market probably already sold it. People preferred to buy their food from someone with references when they had the choice.

They gathered at the table together to eat as they always did. Even in Patriot mode, Jason sat at the table had sat at the table with them for dinner. Shared meals were a habit of families and military groups, and they were both. Miles took his whiskey to the porch when they finished. Charlie and Jason settled in by the fire with an set of dominoes they'd found in the house.

"It bugs me that we're playing this wrong and I don't know how to play the right way," Jason said.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"We're playing kid dominoes. Match the numbers and whoever runs out first wins. It's more complicated than that. There's scoring. There are rules about drawing and passing."

She glanced at him and he said, "My grandad used to play," in response to the question she hadn't asked.

He continued on his train of thought, but the frustration had mostly left his voice. "It's just... I know there's another way, a better way, to do this, but I don't know how. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," she said. "I understand." She was well acquainted with longing for just a little bit more than what you had. She leaned back against the brick of the fireplace facade and let her eyes roam him as he contemplated the tiles in front of him.

* * *

When it was time to turn in for bed, they moved upstairs to Charlie's room. Silence enveloped them as Jason straightened the puddle of blankets on the floor where he slept. This was the first night he'd been himself, rather than her Patriot trained guard, at bedtime.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," she said. "You know you've never had to, right? I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know," he said. "The training makes things hard. It's kind of like riding a stubborn horse. Sometimes I'm in control, sometimes we're fighting for control, and sometimes there's nothing I can do but hold on and try to minimize the damage."

"Why'd you pick the floor?"

"I couldn't leave. I have to protect you, and Miles, Bass and Connor were all in the house that first night. They're not the safest people, so I couldn't go to the other room like you told me to. I guess you got frustrated with me. You threw a blanket at me and said, 'Just settle somewhere.' At that point I had orders that didn't conflict with the training. I've been settling where it landed ever since."

She looked away guiltily. She hadn't meant to, but she had made him sleep on the floor after all. "Tonight you can sleep in a bed," she said. "There's an empty room next door."

"I guess I could do that."

"You don't want to?"

"I like hearing you breathe at night."

"Oh."

"That sounds creepy, doesn't it?" he said. "I grew up in military camps. We were in tents for years. I'd always have one of my parents nearby at night, and if they were both out they'd leave me in the kids' tent and I'd have a whole herd of friends close by. We moved into Philly when I was fifteen. That was the first time I'd had my own room since the blackout when I was seven. I slept in it for six months before I went into the militia and was back with a group. I'm not used to being on my own at night. I can do it when I have to, and it bugs me less when I'm sleeping outside, but I don't really like it."

She ran a hand along his cheek and pulled him down into a gentle kiss. It was a less passionate touch than the ones they'd shared in the barn, but more profound.

"So can I just keep sleeping on your floor?" Jason asked.

"No," Charlie answered. "You can sleep in my bed."

A smile bloomed on Jason, but it faded quickly. "I worry about hurting you, that the Patriot training will come out and I'll attack you."

"I worry about you hurting someone else, but not me. If it's the training that makes you do it, then it's the training that keeps me safe."

"I guess."

"Get your pajamas on and get in bed," she said.

"If you're going to make it an order, how can I say no?"

* * *

The sun was long down when Charlie woke up. She left the curtains parted at night so she had enough moonlight to see by if she needed to defend herself. She quickly surveyed the room and confirmed all was well. Better than well. She scooted closer to Jason and ran a tentative hand over his outstretched forearm.

"I'm awake," he said in reply.

"Just staring at my beauty by moonlight?" she teased.

"Pretty much."

She snuggled into his arms before tilting her head up for a kiss. His lips met hers gently, sweetly. She deepened the kiss and he purred in response, using the hand that had found its way to her waist to pull her more tightly against him. They let the embrace spin and build until they were both radiating heat and breathless.

She kicked off the covers and pushed him onto his back, straddling him as she moved her kisses down his neck. His hands on her hips gripped her tightly and ground her against him. Her thin, wet panties stuck to his loose pajama pants as she moved, exposing more of her as they worked their bodies together.

She slid a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, greedily tracing the hard muscles and tight skin that had been hidden by the fabric. "Off," she demanded as she tugged at the edge of it. He lifted his back to let her tug the shirt off and over his head. "You don't want mine off?" she asked, grabbing her own hem.

"Not yet," he said, running his hands down the sides of her torso and lightly skimming the sides of her breasts. His hands stopped on top of hers and both of them grasped the fabric of the tanktop that ended at her navel. "Patience."

"Patience isn't really my thing," she said. She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it off the bed where it landed on the floor close to Jason's. She was nude now except for her panties and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, bouncing her breasts in the process.

"God, Charlie," he moaned. "Have mercy."

She smiled and ground her hips against him. "Less whining, more kissing."

* * *

"We can't," he said as regret twisted his face.

"We can," she promised. "We'll be careful."

"Careful isn't good enough. I don't take risks I don't have to with you."

She moved rhythmically against him, sliding him along her slick folds before lifting her hips to align their bodies. He pulled on her hips, shifting her forward, and preventing her from sliding down onto him.

"Not without a condom, Charlie. One day, on purpose, I'll get you pregnant. Not by accident tonight."

The sting of rejection drew her into herself and away from him. "You really don't want to?"

He rolled her onto her back and landed with his chest against hers and his hips between her spread thighs. "I can't believe you're even asking that. You can feel how much I want to. The only thing I want more is to do right by you. Getting you pregnant when I'm not... always well, slowing you down in the middle of a war, it would be wrong."

"So we just stop? Jason, I'm aching. I need you right now."

"There's more to me than just my dick, you know."

"Not right now there isn't."

He smiled and trailed kisses down her neck. He caressed one already hard nipple with his thumb while tending to the other with his mouth.

"This isn't making me less horny," she complained.

He ran hand down her side, caressing first the outside of her thigh and then the crease where it joined her body and angled down towards her aching core. She opened her legs for him, making room for his hand as he teased her.

His mouth left her nipple and trailed kisses further south. She tensed as she felt him moving lower on her body, his kisses now past her navel, and she tried to pull her thighs closer together. His shoulders were between them, making it impossible.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Exactly what you think I'm doing," he answered. His kisses had now reached her lower hairline and he nuzzled the curls with his nose.

"You don't think that's kind of gross."

He quickly slid back up the length of her body to face her.

"Did some lazy asshole tell you your body is gross?"

"It's just kind of gooey."

"You're wet, Charlie. I made you wet. I like you wet."

"Well yeah, but that doesn't mean you want to put it in your mouth."

"Water is wet and I put that in my mouth."

"Jason," she tried to protest but the words trailed off. His expression was serious and sincere.

"Strawberries, steak, peaches, beer. All wet things I like having in my mouth. And none of them even thank me for it. I want to kiss you til you see stars and beg me to stop."

"You really want to do this?" she asked.

"Not if you don't want me to, but you should let me try."

"OK," she said.

He grinned. "OK."

* * *

Charlie slammed the pillow over her face to muffle the sounds she couldn't hold back. It was damp from the times she'd already used it. At first she'd worried about waking up Miles, but thoughts of anything but this moment, this feeling, were gone. She'd given up modesty, too, and shamelessly rode the fingers inside her while Jason's mouth pulled feral cries of ecstasy from her. It had never been like this. She hadn't known it could be like this. Jason didn't quit when she thought she'd reached her peak; he just kept up his relentless attention, pushing her on, pushing her higher, finding a new peak.

Finally, she loosened her grip on the pillow. Breathless, she begged, "Stop. No more."

Jason grinned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said with a shudder. "It's getting too sensitive, a little ticklish."

He rubbed his face on the bedsheet as he slid up the length of her body. A smile still creased his face and wrinkled his eyes as he stole her screaming pillow and rested his head beside hers. She radiated contentment and her eyes were glazed as she reached a hand up to caress his cheek, drawing him closer to her and kissing him.

"Oh," she said with surprise.

"Oh?"

"I guess that's me I taste."

"Yeah."

"That's so weird."

"Why weird?" he asked.

"Would you want to taste you?" she asked.

"If you're nice enough to put it in your mouth, I don't see where I have any room to complain about anything."

Suddenly shy again she asked, "Is that something you want me to do?"

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do," he answered.

She looked away, studying the ripples in the shadows as the leaves on the tree outside blew in the wind. Finally she said, "We've been making out for a while. Your balls have to be pretty blue by now."

"My balls are past blue and into purple. I still don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I can solve this problem myself if I need to."

"Jason!" she gasped.

He laughed. "You aren't going to convince me you haven't touched yourself."

"Well, yeah, everybody does it, but you aren't supposed to say things like that," she replied.

"You can always tell me anything," he said. "And whoever the idiot was who came before me really was an idiot. Forget everything he ever told you." He cocked a smile at her and added, "Except the parts that make me look good by comparison. That you should remember, but only so you know how awesome I am."

She avoided his eyes, starting instead at his lips, as she asked. "Do you want to know?"

"Know what?"

"Who came before you."

He took a deep breath and considered the question. "As long as I'm your last, I don't care, or at least I know I shouldn't. Whatever needed to happen to get you here now is your business and it's fine."

"You really do just take me as I am and love me, don't you?"

"I do," he promised.

"I want to make you as happy as you made me," she said.

"You do. Always."

She trailed kisses down his neck and kept moving south, stating as she passed his nipples, "I had something a little more immediate in mind."

* * *

The shock of cold air against her skin woke her. Beside the bed, Jason was fumbling around the floor looking for his discarded clothes.

"Come back to bed," Charlie mumbled. "I like you naked."

He leaned across the bed, threaded a hand in her hair, and kissed her hard. "I love you, Charlie. I don't think I said it exactly last night. I love you."

She felt slapped by his words. Something was wrong. "I love you too. Now tell me what's going on."

"I'm slipping," he said. "I have a harder time fighting off the Patriot training when I'm tired, and we didn't get much sleep last night." He paused and his voice was thick when he continued, "I won't be me soon."

"What can I do?"

"I don't know," Jason barked. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm scared. I'm afraid of what I could do to you."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"When I'm in control I wouldn't. When the training takes over..." He stalked away without finishing the sentence and grabbed his pants, the thick ones he wore during the day, not his pajama pants.

"You're getting dressed?" she asked.

"I don't want him confused. I'm supposed to keep people's hands off of you. I don't know how he's going to interpret this."

"Is it really like he's a whole other person?"

"Yeah. Another person who controls my body. You have to promise me something, Charlie."

"What?"

"Charlie, promise me that if you have to kill me to defend yourself that you will."

"Jason, you can't ask me to do that."

"Sometimes you show your love by dying for someone and sometimes by killing for them. I need you to be willing to kill for me."

"You're not asking me to kill. You're asking me to kill you!"

"Only if you have to. Charlie, can you imagine what it would be like to fight my way back into control of my body only to face the fact that I killed you? Not just that you're gone, but I did it."

"So you're asking me to face it instead."

"I'm asking you to defend yourself no matter who attacks. Me included. I need to know you're safe Charlie. At least as safe as you can be." He yanked the laces of his boots and tied them, doubling the knots and tucking the strings into his boots. "If you can't promise to take care of yourself I have to leave right now before he takes over again."

"You will not leave!"

"Then promise me! Promise me you won't let me hurt you."

Tears filled her eyes as she said, "I promise."

He kissed her again, gently this time. "I love you."

When he stood up, he squared his shoulders, stiffened his spine, and placed his hands behind his back. He took up a position halfway between the bed and the door. The Patriot was in place.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: From here you can go to either chapter six for the happy ending or chapter seven for the tragic ending. I've posted both but only one can happen.**


	6. Happy Ending

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is the happy ending option. It follows chapter five. If you prefer to read the sad ending instead of this one, it's posted as chapter seven and takes place_ instead_ of this ending. **

* * *

Charlie slammed her hips down hard on Jason, pounding towards her climax. Bass and Connor had gotten back with the supplies ten days ago, but she hadn't learned that condoms were included in the supplies until yesterday. She'd managed to snag one today after lunch, and she and Jason had made a hasty retreat to the hayloft in the barn under the pretense of tending the horses.

Jason had built her into a frenzy, slowly and methodically teasing every inch of her skin, worshiping her body with his hands and his mouth, but as much as she'd loved it, she was ready for her soft ache to end. She wanted to feel the world shatter around her. She was so close, brutally close, but the final peak was just out of reach and her thigh muscles ached from the ride. She bit her lip and whimpered, desperate for the release she couldn't quite grab.

"You OK?" Jason asked. His face was twisted with pleasure and tension as he fought to hold back, waiting for her.

"I need more," she panted. "Faster. Harder."

Jason hooked one leg around hers and rolled them both. She landed on her back and he began thrusting, grinding against her, deep and rhythmically.

"That OK?" he asked, his voice tight with restraint.

"Harder and faster," she said.

He complied, and she panted and squeaked in response. "You OK?" he asked, clenching all his muscles as the only way to force his hips to stop.

"Don't stop," she ordered. "God, don't stop."

He buried his head in her neck, rubbing his forehead against her hair spread across the hay beneath them in the barn loft and let his body do as it wanted. Every inch of him wanted to hear Charlie make the high pitched whimpering sounds she made when she came. He'd know his work was done when he heard that sound and felt her fingernails bite into the skin of his shoulders. The pulse of her body around him would be just behind it and he longed to finally feel that intimate grasp. He heard her keen, felt her clench, and gave up his fight for control. He whispered her name in her ear as the world turned to color around him.

When they were both spent, he collapsed on top of her, bracing his forearms on the ground so he wouldn't crush her but unwilling to move away yet. It had been worth the wait.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I know," he said as he locked eyes with her. "I really know. Do you know what I mean? Do you *know* that I love you?"

"Yeah," she said. "I do."

He kissed her and slowly pulled his body away from hers.

"Dammit," he said.

"What?" she asked.

"It broke," he said, his voice rising in distress. "The damn thing broke."

"It will be OK," Charlie said.

"No," he argued. "It's not. We waited and were careful and I swore I'd take care of you and now this. Dammit!"

"Calm down," she ordered.

"Has ordering someone to calm down ever made them calm down?" he retorted.

"It's probably fine. Probably nothing."

"And if it's not? What if you're pregnant?"

She shrugged. "You said you wanted to marry me"

"Not like this. Not because the damn condom broke and I'm your least bad option in the middle of a war."

Miles' voice, sharp and tolerating no dissent, cut in before Charlie could reply. "Get dressed. Family meeting on the porch in fifteen minutes."

Jason grabbed his pants and roughly pulled the leg back rightside out. "Great. Just what this day needed," he muttered.

* * *

Miles sat on the gray, sagging boards at the west edge of the porch. The sun was setting behind him, making him a dark spot on the blazing horizon. He held up his whiskey and swirled it as if the refracting light could catch liquid wisdom.

"Connor and Monroe aren't joining us?" Charlie asked.

"They're out berry picking," Miles answered.

Jason snorted. Even now he had trouble thinking of his former president as a normal man who might want berries with his dinner.

Miles cocked his head and stared at Jason. "You'd rather wait until they get back to have this discussion?"

"No," Jason answered. He squared his shoulders and tried to look like a man, but he felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"So you two have moved past holding hands and on into 'Let's get married and have babies,'" Miles said.

Charlie spoke first, "Miles I think you misunderstood what you heard."

"Nah, kid. I understood. Your timeline may or may not be thrown off. That's not the important part. Controlling when you get what you want is great, but knowing what you want and what's good for you is a hell of a lot more important. I don't want my life for you."

Jason dropped to sit on the porch, his back against the roof post, as Miles' meaning sunk in. Miles was either going to throw him out or give them his blessing. Jason's mind spun, trying to find a way to convince Miles that no one would ever be better for Charlie than he was. No one was more devoted to keeping her safe and making her happy. He couldn't find the words though. It didn't matter anyway. Miles didn't care what he thought. Miles' attention was on Charlie.

Miles asked her, "How's the deprogramming going? He hasn't tried to kill Bass and Connor, so that's something, right?"

Charlie answered, "When he's really tired he can't fight off the Patriot training, and I don't think either of us knows what he'd do if someone attacked me directly, but overall I think he's pretty good."

"Yeah, cause no one ever gets tired in battle," Miles said sarcastically. "They're all short and sweet." Miles turned his attention to Jason. "When we go head to head with the Patriots, what are you going to do? We're on the run, living with almost no sleep, Connor tosses ammo to Charlie and smacks her in the face with it. Are you going to attack Connor? Attack all of us? Hell, is Charlie safe with you?"

Jason's mind jumped first to Charlie's safety. Her nails had left tracks on his back. He had marks from her teeth on his shoulder and elsewhere. She was passionate, not gentle, and he'd never come close to hurting her. "Her actions don't trigger the training. She's safe. It may even be built into the programming. They thought of everything else."

"And Bass' idiot kid?" Miles prodded. "If he pulls her pigtails are you going to pull his head off?"

"Dumbass should keep his hands to himself," Jason answered.

"Jason!" Charlie said.

Miles rolled his head, stretching his neck before rubbing his temples. It wasn't a bad answer, but it wasn't a practical one either. It was the sort of fierce defense of Charlie that he wanted everywhere except within their group. He'd always been able to trust Jason to take care of Charlie. Even when the water tower had been blown up with them in it, it had taken three militia soldiers to drag him away from her. If Jason turned on Connor though, Bass would turn on Jason, Charlie would turn on Bass and he'd have a dog fight in the middle of camp. The Patriots wouldn't have to destroy them. They'd destroy themselves.

Miles heaved a sigh and turned his attention back to Charlie. "I know I'm a great uncle, but do you really think you two are going to make me a great-uncle?"

"It's been less than an hour Miles. I don't know yet."

"Big picture, kid. Long term. He wants to love and protect you til the world stops spinning. Is that what you want?"

Charlie sat down beside Jason and took his left hand in hers, running her thumb over his ring the finger. "To love and protect him until the world stops spinning?" she said slowly. "Yes. I want that." She met Jason's gaze and leaned in for a kiss.

"Alright, enough of that," Miles said. "Go pack."

"What?" Charlie asked.

"You two are going to the Tower. Round up whatever Monroe Militia soldiers are still in the area and recruit them. Assess the supplies and load in more. Get it ready for a siege. We need a fallback position."

"You want us to build New Philly at the Tower?" Jason asked. The need for a new capital, a permanent rally point, had been vaguely discussed, but this was the first time Miles had named a site.

Miles shook his head. "Yeah. That's exactly what I want. Figure out what it would take to secure it and make it habitable and then do that. Do you think you can do it?"

"I don't want to do it!" Charlie objected. "I want to fight the Patriots."

"Winning wars is more about strategy and convincing people to side with you than it is about force. We need to start out maneuvering them instead of killing them one by one."

"Miles, this is ridiculous," Charlie said.

"No, kid. This is smart. Last time we made Bass the father of the country and it got out of control. I won't be responsible for another military dictatorship, but if we want people to turn against the Patriots we have to give them something to turn to. When you lay it out for them people will find young love in a fortified bunker a hell of a lot more appealing than typhus and brainwashing."

Jason was beaming, but Charlie still hesitated. "When will I see you?" she asked Miles.

"You're setting up the core of a new country, Charlie. Not just tearing one down, but building one up. I'll be there all the time."

Jason wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "The first two businesses to set up in the market in Philly were a bar and a sandwich shop. Once we've got whiskey and food, Miles will be by to inspect the place all the time. We can do this. Someone needs to. Philly was the best part of the Monroe Republic."

Charlie rubbed her eyes and rested her head against Jason's shoulder. "It didn't seem that great to me."

He laughed gently. "Yeah well, it wasn't a great place to visit, but you would want to live there. We could do something good, Charlie. Something amazing."

Miles said, "This is your chance to build the life you want, kid. Take it. And I really do need a capital. You'd be doing me a favor."

Charlie's smile was tinged with sadness. She didn't want to go and she couldn't wait to leave. "OK, Miles. I'll go set up a house with Jason as a personal favor to you, but I don't like the name New Philly. How about Charlottesville?"

Miles rolled his eyes. "Go pack."

Charlie stood up first and reached a hand out to Jason. "Let's pack."

Jason stood up and and hoisted Charlie over his shoulder. "I have everything I need. Let's go."

Author's Note: THE END. Chapter seven is an alternative ending for this story. It does not follow this chapter. It's an AU and follows chapter five.


	7. Alternative Ending

**ENDING OPTION #2: This is the unhappy ending I originally planned but didn't want to write. This alternate ending begins two days after chapter five's romantic night together. The events of chapter six never happen in this timeline.**

* * *

The front door slammed against the wall as Miles barged through it. "Jason, out the back door. Take Charlie and check the south perimeter. Do it now."

Jason, trapped in his Patriot programming but recognizing an order to protect Charlie, immediately headed for the back door. When Charlie didn't follow he paused, doorknob in hand, and waited. He wouldn't open it to check for danger until they were both ready to go through it.

"What's going on?" Charlie demanded.

Quietly Miles said to her, "Bass and Connor are back. I just saw them turn off the main road and on to the drive. We haven't seen Jason, real Jason, in two days. Do you think those two are going to make him any better?"

Charlie's posture sagged under the weight of the news.

"I know he means something to you, kid, so I'm trying not to get him killed, but this just got more complicated. He needed to be better by now."

"We can't just turn him out," she protested.

"We can't have him growling at every man who gets within twenty feet of you either. Bass and Connor are going to be a hell of a lot less patient with his guard dog crap than I am."

"Miles..." Charlie pleaded, but the words wandered away from her. There was nothing to say.

"Go check fences," he said. "We'll unload the wagon while you're gone. Don't come up until you've seen me take the horses to the barn. He likes horses, right? Maybe a couple more to brush will snap him out out it."

"Thanks, Miles."

"Yeah, don't mention it. You've got a gun and a knife, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. If this gets ugly, everybody else dies before you. Got it?"

"Miles!"

They both heard the rattle of wagon wheels and hooves on hard packed dirt as Bass and Connor pulled up in front of the house.

"Go!" Miles ordered.

Jason threw open the back door, leveling his weapon at the yard as he searched for threats. Charlie shoved at his back, pushing him forward so she could get through the door, and took off at a dead run down the gentle slope behind the house. Jason quickly matched her pace, leaving the house and whatever dangers it held behind them.

* * *

The south perimeter was secure. Charlie had known it would be. This was busywork, something to keep them out of the house. Jason's eyes had watched her as much as they'd watched the horizon, and now they focused on the house. Despite being left out of Miles' confidence, he seemed to have identified the real trouble.

He stood stiffly and stared at her with the muscles in his jaw and throat twitching. The Patriot programming was still in control, but Jason was trying to fight his way through. "Identify the threat, please."

"What?" Charlie gasped. His tone and inflection were flat, and he was still focused on her protection, but he was speaking through the training. This was new.

"Identify the threat."

Charlie looked away. Jason would know what was going on soon, but for now he was closer than he'd been since the night they'd been together. She couldn't bear to say something that would send him further away. She bit her lip and grasped for a conveniently bent truth, something that wouldn't send him deep into protection mode. "Miles has company. We're supposed to stay away for a couple of hours."

Jason nodded. "Retreat," he said.

"Yeah, I guess. Far enough from the house that you think I'm safe. Lead the way."

He crossed the perimeter line and marched further south, moving rapidly over uneven territory to lead her further from the house. She hopped over fallen logs and tangled brush to keep up with him as he made his way along a narrow deer trail before cutting sharply left through a break in a thicket of trees. She didn't know where he was headed, but he seemed to know. He'd only been out beyond the perimeter once without her. He'd been stuck in Patriot mode at the time and she'd sent him off to hunt for food, cherishing a few hours without his aggressive protection. He hadn't been able to communicate whatever he'd found when he came back, but apparently he remembered it now.

He stepped over a small stream and turned to offer her a hand across it. She didn't need it, but took it anyway, and he pulled a little harder than was necessary as she crossed, the excess of momentum causing her to land hard against him and press the length of her body to his. He reached his other hand down to steady her, but the hand landed on her ass and pulled her harder against him. The Patriot was still in charge, still following its rules, but Jason was running the game. She looked up at him and smiled, but what she saw caused her to jump away from him with a shudder. His expression was still blank.

He let go of her and began moving again. They moved upstream along the edge of a creek for ten minutes, the ground underfoot growing damp and mossy. She heard the rush and crash of the waterfall before she saw it. It was twenty feet high and just as wide, a wall of rushing water sliding over a fortress of gray rock before the river cut off into the woods. Jason moved to the edge of the sheet of water, ducked, and disappeared. Charlie followed, pleasantly surprised to find she stayed dry as she passed through the narrow space between the water and the rock face.

Inside, the hollow was lit with the filtered glow of sunlight through water. The mist near the crashpoint of the waterfall abated some as she moved deeper into the cave. A mottled blanket and some old beer cans were shoved into a corner in the back wall of the cave. Jason grabbed the blanket and shook it out before spreading it out again.

"It's clear," he said. "No human or animal threats. The cans on it and the decay of the blanket indicate it was here before the blackout."

She answered, "Affirmative." Her dad had had a phone that talked before the blackout. Jason's literal, flat state reminded her of it.

She dropped to a seated position on the blanket and began to unlace her boots. It had been a long walk and there was a pool of water on their side of the fall that looked perfect for soaking her feet. It was about four feet across and kept fresh by the current of the waterfall. She could see the bottom of it, and nothing lurked in the depths waiting to slither over her feet.

Jason sat beside her and stared, blankly at first, but then he began to blink rapidly as if trying to clear something from his eyes. Charlie's heart fluttered as she reached out to touch his cheek. He squinted his eyes shut and pressed his head into her hand. She hated that the gesture reminded her of a dog, but he was her adoring puppy and if he needed to be petted she wasn't going to deny him that. The expression on his face was still blank, but the movement of his body as he leaned towards her let her hope he was breaking through.

"We're safe here," she said, trying to coax him out with her words. "You found a perfect hiding spot. It's long abandoned, not close to anything. No one is looking for us; no one has reason to look here. It's very safe. You can relax here." This time when his eyes met hers she could see that he was behind them. He was no longer a shell on autopilot; he was her Jason.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Tired," he said. "I've been trying to fight my way out so long."

"You're here now."

"Yeah," he said with a dry smile, "And all I want to do is take a nap."

Charlie grinned. "That's *all* you want?"

"OK, not all I want, but we better not. Not now. I don't feel in control enough to lose control. I just want to hold you."

"You really want to take a nap?" she asked.

He shrugged, unwilling to own his own desire.

She patted the blanket she was sitting on and pulled her feet out of the water. "How convenient that we have a blanket."

He lay down and she rested her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, her head rising and falling as his chest moved with his breaths. Sleep seemed a long way off.

"I love you, Charlie," he said. "Promise me you'll be safe."

"I love you, too," she said. "And I'm not having this conversation again."

"I need to know, Charlie. No matter what, no matter who attacks, even if it's me, I need to know you'll fight."

"Jason…" she protested.

"If the Patriot training goes out of control, don't let me kill you. Don't make me live with that. I couldn't anyway."

"But you expect me to live with killing you?"

"You wouldn't be killing me. You'd be killing an enemy attacking you. I'd be collateral damage."

"Drop it," she ordered.

He sat up suddenly, knocking her head off of him and onto the ground.

"No, Charlie," he barked. "I won't drop it. I will never drop your safety. How do you not understand that by now? Patriot dog or myself, militia, rebel, whatever it's always about keeping you safe."

She stood up and yelled back at him, not willing to give into his stupid belief that he was evil. He'd always doubted his place with the group, and she still felt guilty that before they'd gone into the Tower she hadn't done enough to let him know he had a place in her life as something other than a human sacrifice. "You don't get to tell me what to do. *I* decide what matters to me. *You* matter, you idiot, and I will NOT hurt you."

He jumped to standing, yelling back at her with the same fire she threw at him. "What if I try to hurt you? What will you do if the training takes over and I come for you? What then?"

Charlie let out a frustrated shriek and shoved hard at his chest. His feet slid on the slick ground and he landed half in, half out of the pool of water beside them. The momentum of her shove let the rest of his body slide in behind his chest. She saw his head go under and she jumped into the water to pull him back up.

Jason came up spitting water and gasping for breath, shaking off her hands and placing his own hands around her neck, forcing her under the water. Charlie's mind spun and her lungs fought against the water she swallowed. She struggled to come up, desperate for breath, and he still held her under. Her stomach clenched as she admitted that this was more than a playful swim. She'd attacked him. The training had taken over. The Patriot was going to drown her.

She grabbed the knife strapped to her thigh and made quick shallow cuts in his leg, hoping the pain would make him loosen his grip and fight her off. He didn't. The hands around her neck held her under with cold efficiency. Her lungs burned and her vision began to blur. Panic gave way to a soldier's instincts. Only one of them at most was going to live through this and if she didn't act quickly, killing him fast enough to loosen his grip, they'd both die. He'd kill her and then die himself, either slowly from the tiny injuries she was inflicting or suicide when he realized what he'd done. Miles would never know what had happened to them. Worse, Patriot Jason might kill Miles, her uncle never suspecting what was in store for him as a man he recognized approached their home.

She stared up through the churning water and focused as clearly as she could. She'd only get one chance to do this. She could only bear to make this cut once. She tightened her grip on her knife and thrust hard upward, sliding it through the muscles she'd caressed and between the ribs she'd traced with her fingers. It pierced the lungs that had blown hot breaths over her skin and drove into the heart she'd felt beating beneath her cheek less than five minutes ago. She slid the knife to the side, opening the wound, making it quick, and felt blood, hot and sticky, run through the hole she'd made.

His grip went slack as he slid under the red water, and she was finally able to come up for breaths that burned as she desperately sucked air. Each inhale let her think a little more clearly. Each thought brought more pain.

It was over. She was alive and he wasn't. Knowing it was what he'd wanted, what he'd specifically asked for, was no comfort at all.


End file.
